Story Excerpt

Ravaged by the Succubus XXX Dark Horror Erotica, by Jezebel Rose

Twilight, violent and serene, held the night sky hostage. Black bats hung from bamboo branches. Packs of mangy dogs, viciously hungry, roamed the forest in search of prey. Cuddled closely together, a family of rabbits rested, at bay. They had no idea their scent had been found, that they were being tracked, that they were already dead.

Secluded in a remote and stony cave, something loud wept and wailed: crying out for help. The voice sounded vaguely feminine, and very desperate for attention.

Outside the cave, the statue of a woman stood in memoriam. She was an inspiring asian beauty, with heavy-lidded eyes and a seductive smile that even death and a heavy-handed stonemason could not take away from her. Her pale breasts showed between the slit of her kimono. A slight hint of her soft thighs between the parting of her skirt. Her head was held high, hinting men towards her. She was as beautiful as she was dangerous, and perhaps that’s what brought about her untimely end.

The crypt door opened and closed in the wind, an open invitation to any inspiring tomb robbers. The wailing inside was replaced by arduous moans, as a woman lusted for another.

Twilight soon passed and turned to dusk. The dogs, now well-fed, were at ease. The sky drained of light and colour, and the forest became eerily quiet. Even the fireflies left the trails, as if they had no desire to lead anyone so far astray.  Victimless, the door to the cave closed and did not open again, and the moaning stopped.

***

“What… no lock? Damn you, Inugami… You old, neglectful fool.”

The door to the remote and stony cave opened and a cloaked man carrying a lantern and a sack shuffled his way inside. Behind him the door continued swinging to and fro, and then abruptly slammed itself shut. All of a sudden, the wind wailed and snuffed the lantern out. The man stood very still in the dark, fearful for his life.

 Not only could he not see, he could not tell who or what was in the room with him. He struggled with the lantern, trying to light it. Fear and apprehension crept over him like cockroaches, scuttling in the corners of his vision. He imagined a tomb-robber shoving a knife between his ribs, or a pit viper attacking his bare ankle.

“Dammit!” He cried out in desperation.

The lantern fell and shattered into a million pieces. The man frantically searched his pockets for a piece of flint and steel instead. He heard footsteps shuffling around as he fumbled with the tools, and finally found what he was looking for.

The flint made sparks; and he saw much of the small space around him.

There! Yellow eyes in the dark!

He flinched away and scared whatever it was, and it went running past him, yowling in fear. The last he saw of it was a black blur, scrambling through a moon-lit crack in the door.

A cat. He had been scared by a damn cat! He laughed a little, relieved, and relaxed.

He should’ve lit the lantern before coming in, he knew. But he was relieved that the rumours weren’t true: there was no woman in the cave, crying out at night. The yowls had been caused by a stray cat, and nothing more.

All he heard now was the cave walls dripping. Though he couldn’t see well in the dark, at least he knew that he was alone. However, now that the lantern was broken, he needed another way to see, otherwise he’d be stumbling around forever.

A look around the room revealed what might’ve been candles on top of a piece of rotten furniture. He strayed closer and saw that the candles were shrivelled, twisted, and off-colour. They seemed to shy away from him. He tried to light them but they would not take.

He grimaced. That was odd. Candles that refused to light. He tried again, to no avail. It was beginning to feel like he shouldn’t be here. But he wouldn’t leave, not without what he’d come for. So, he tried again, and again.

Working in the dark for so long was beginning to unnerve him. He thought he heard a woman weeping quietly, and the old fear came back. The sound came to him with a strange sensation… a cold fingertip brushing along the back of his ear.

‘’Genichiro.’’ His imagination whispered.

He flinched and then looked uselessly at the dark, straining his ears to listen because he could not see. He heard nothing but dripping, and felt only fear, standing there in the dark.

What was that?

Hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Was he suffering from hallucinations? Was that why he couldn’t light the candles, and was now hearing voices? … Was it karma? This was a tomb. Perhaps…

Perhaps he was here for all the wrong reasons…

… No. He remembered why he came: Kyonosuke. He had to provide for his son. It was fear he felt. Fear was casting this web of doubt. Fear was creating these illusions.

Yet, there was something very wrong with the room, something that without adequate lighting he could not see. A fly buzzed by his ear and made him start. A rotten smell came by him and the dripping grew louder.

This place was… unsettling. How had so much changed since his last visit? Where was Inugami, the gravekeeper? Who had brought the twisted candles, supposing they were real? And why was there no lock on the door? 

… What secrets were hidden away in the dark?

 With a pensive turn of the flint and tinder, he cursed aloud and then struck them together out of pure agitation. He could not light up the room, and therefore could not hope to find what he was looking for. He would have to go back, and return another day.

The last sparks struck as he turned to leave, having given up, but then he saw his shadow dancing on the cave wall, which meant-.

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that a single candle had been lit by a stray spark. But the flame wasn’t orange… it was purple. A sinister chill ran through his body and pain abruptly filled his hands. In agony, he let go of what he was holding, and the flint and steel fell to the floor as something moved behind him.

He spun about, in shock, and watched as eerie purple light crept into the space. More candles hissed to life of their own volition and he realized with dread that he’d been very mistaken. The candles had not been placed upon a piece of rotten furniture… all this time, they had been placed upon a shrine, which he had just lit in his ignorance.

The shrine was dreadful to behold. Twisted candles stuck out from it like thorns. Kanji gratified the surfaces, likely the mad ramblings of a deranged worshipper. The words written could not bear being repeated. Even studying their winding phonetics made him feel violently ill. Whoever had broken the lock on the door had grossly misused the room. The energy in here was foul. He felt it now, gathering all around him, and the obvious source was the candles. He was not surprised that when he held his trembling hand over the purple flames he felt a chill against his skin. The flame was not hot. It was cold and lifeless.

This place was rife with corruption. He had never seen the shrine before, but he knew it had been built with ill intentions. Who in their right mind would poison the sanctity of a tomb? No wonder the place was foul.

Eager to leave, he reached behind the shrine and pulled away most of the back wall. To his surprise, the thoroughly-worn cloth came apart in strands, the material falling through his fingers like clay. It felt damp and rotten, as if the humidity and decay had gotten to it long ago.

He looked at his overflowing palms. They were filled with clumps of tapestry. Not priceless tapestry, but rotten tapestry. Useless tapestry.

Anger seized him. The tapestry would have been his son’s inheritance. It was worth a small fortune, but now it was hopelessly decayed. Inugami had let it go to rot!

 “Bastard!” He cried and tossed the ruined tapestry back at the wall, and with an animalistic cry, he kicked the shrine over. It crashed as it fell.

Candles burned in the debris, casting crude shadows and twisted shapes across the walls. The shadows seemed to dance. He spun in surprise and watched them dance the danse macabre. They pulled at the tapestry impishly, ripping away more clumps, and then threw the pieces back at him, along with their horrid laughter.

He leapt for the door, terror-stricken, and broke something. Thick, vacuous goop came through his sandals and he groaned disgustedly as it squelched beneath his sandals and formed a crust between his toes.

He looked around and saw crude layers of oil coagulating in encrusted pots. After so many ceremonies, the pots resembled buckets of blood. They had been positioned along the walls and filled with floating violet candles. The candles were all lit, even though he’d lit none of them.

… What was going on here? – What was happening?

The shadows continued laughing at him, mocking him, amused by him. The situation resembled, more and more and with time, an unplanned seance. Some ritual he had walked in on, an unfortunate thing he had no desire to be a part of, but was.

‘’I only came for the tapestry!’’ He cried at the room, stumbling out of fear. The biggest pot, about the size of a man, suddenly rattled. A gurgled, muffled scream came from inside, suggesting not only that there was someone in the pot, but that they were drowning in oil.

Please purchase this story and support me as an author! Thank you! ~ Jezebel Rose

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